


take me to church

by wearealltalesintheend



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Titans (Comics)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bad Cults, Batfamily Feels, Cults, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Humor, dick doesn't know how to run interference, i guess??, jason is dragged back to familly business, maybe the real cult is the snakes we picked up along the way, tim drake should get more sleep, tw: milld gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-03-25 21:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13843173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearealltalesintheend/pseuds/wearealltalesintheend
Summary: “I think I joined a cult,” says a new voice. “I think I joined a crazy cult last month.”Honestly, Jason should’ve seen this coming. It’s all on him, really.“What the fuck, Replacement?” Jason asks, because at this point, it’s too late to throw himself out of a window. “And why are you telling me this?”“You’ve joined a cult before.” Tim frowns, sliding in the booth besides Roy and effectively trapping him in the conversation. “How do I uninstall it?”or, alternatively, the one where Jason learns not to trust quiet days, Tim joins a cult, and specifically the nordic apocalypse is upon us.





	1. I can move mountains, I can work a miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Yes, this is a sort of sequel of my other [Batfamily fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13510236) but can totally be read stand alone. 
> 
> Also, forget canon, ye who walks here. This is a mash up of most canons, except maybe the New 52. The only good thing out of that was the Outlaws and that's the only thing I'm keeping from that.
> 
> Also, I'm really, really sorry, this is very dumb and I can't write action scenes, also again it's midnight so there's that.
> 
> Enjoy.

“If you wanted fries,” Jason grunts, hugging his jokerized fries closer, “you should’ve gotten some yourself.”

 

“Dude, come on,” Roy says, munching on a stolen fry, “caring is sharing. Sharing is caring? Sharing is caring.”

 

It’s Wednesday afternoon, and Jason can’t think of a more boring day. Everything is calm and dull and normal. Ordinary. Even  _ this _ , meeting Roy at a Batburger in Gotham in the middle of the day, seems normal, like this could be an everyday thing.

 

And that’s so rare for Gotham, and for his life for that matter, that Jason should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

 

“I think I joined a cult,” says a new voice. “I think I joined a crazy cult last month.”

 

Honestly, he should’ve seen this coming. It’s all on him, really.

 

“What the fuck, Replacement?” Jason asks, because at this point, it’s too late to throw himself out of a window. “And why are you telling  _ me  _ this?”

 

“You’ve joined a cult before.” Tim frowns, sliding in the booth besides Roy and effectively trapping him in the conversation. “How do I uninstall it?”

 

“I think I should go,” says Roy.

 

“No, you’re fine.” The kid smiles pleasantly. “Actually, have  _ you  _ joined a cult before?”

 

“No?”

 

“You don’t know? You look like someone who would join a cult. Are you sure?”

 

“I mean. I was until you said that.” Roy stares at his half eaten fry, contemplating his life with a worried expression. “I really feel like I should go.”

 

“You’re fine,” Jason waves him off, if he has to suffer through this, he’s taking everyone along. “Now, again.  _ What the fuck, Replacement?” _

 

The kid has the decency to look sheepish at least, “in my defense, I hadn’t slept in three days and Kon had been streaming Buffy for the past 16 hours in the living room.”

 

Jason feels the urge to ask again,  _ what the fuck _ , but he thinks the twitch of his left eye conveys the sentiment enough.

 

“I don’t know why he was there for 16 hours either, I mean, I’m sure he has his own house,” Tim shrugs, “but at least it was Buffy this time.”

 

“You’re saying a lot of words, but none of them are making sense.”

 

“I joined a cult,” he repeats slowly, as if Jason is the one being unreasonable here. “At least I think I did. It’s not that weird.”

 

“It  _ is  _ a little weird,” Roy nods distracted, still holding his fry. “Jaybird, do you think I could’ve been in a cult and forgot?”

 

“Goddamn it, Tim. You broke Roy.” Jason glares at the kid before turning to his friend and pushing his fries towards him, “no cults. Eat the fries.”

 

“Can we focus on the matter at hand?” Tim pinches the bridge of his nose, “how did you left  _ your  _ cult, Jason?”

 

“First of all, the all caste was  _ not  _ a cult-”

 

“I don’t know,” Roy adds, choosing this moment to rejoin the conversation, “it kinda looked like a cult.”

 

“It was  _ not  _ a cult,” he speaks over them, glaring, “second of all. The untitled killed them all and then  _ we  _ killed their magically reanimated corpses.”

 

For a minute the only sounds are the mindless buzz of the place. Then, “ _ fuck. _ ”

 

“Language,” Jason says mildly.

 

“I don’t know what else I was expecting,” Tim shakes his head, “but that’s not helpful at all.”

 

He is so going to regret this.  _ He is so going to regret this.  _ “I’m  _ so  _ going to regret this, but why don’t you start from the beginning?”

 

“You’re going to help me?” The kid perks up, “really?”

 

“Don’t push it,” Jason scowls, “just start talking.”

 

“Right. So. Remember that time we all thought Bruce died and shit hit the fan in epically proportions?” Tim grimaces, “well, turns out if you dig around too much in the deep web researching time travel related issues, it raises a couple of flags for a couple of people.”

 

Sometimes Jason can’t believe this family. Honestly. 

 

“They contacted me a few months ago,” he continues, “posing as a research group on theoretical physics and modern chemistry, saying they saw my comments in the forums and asking if I would be interested to subscribe to their monthly journal.”

 

“So you said yes?” asks Roy, a little too amused.

 

“So I said yes. I mean, I looked them up, it all checked out. It seemed harmless enough.” Tim rubs at his eyes, “it was normal for the next month or so. I received fliers, articles, stickers, joined a few discussion on their forums.”

 

“But then things got weird?” Jason guesses.

 

“And then things got weird.”

 

*

 

_ Two weeks ago _

 

“Dude,” Kon asks, hovering behind him, “what are you doing?”

 

Tim doesn’t jump out of his skin. He doesn’t scream either. Of course he knew Kon had been there.  _ Of course. _

 

“Working,” he answers, without looking up from his computer, “researching actually.”

 

“No offense, but you look like shit, man.”

 

“That sounds offensive,” Tim frowns, “you can’t say  _ no offense _ and then go full offense. It doesn’t work that way.”

 

“That wasn’t full offense. That was medium offense at best.” Kon perches himself in the chair’s arm, squinting to look at the screen, “and by the way, that’s exactly how it works, everybody knows that.”

 

“Well then, no offense, but you’re wrong.”

 

“When’s the last time you slept?”

 

“I got a solid fifteen minutes yesterday,” he says, “why? Hey, can you pass me that coffee?”

 

“How did anyone think it was a good idea for you to live alone?” Kon pokes his cheek, “you’re a disaster.”

 

“Did you honestly come here all the way from Metropolis to insult me?”

 

“Nah. I brought you lunch too. And I’ve been binge watching Buffy upstairs.” He downs the cold coffee in one go, ignoring Tim’s protests, and winces at the bitter taste. “But seriously what  _ is  _ that?”

 

The image Kon points out in the screen is a large painting of a green snake eating its own tale, the universe behind it. “It’s the  _ Ouroboros _ . It symbolizes infinity, the circle of life, evolution, continuity, the beginning and end of the universe, and it has been associated with ancient concepts of alchemy and the Freemasons. lot of cultures have some version of it.”

 

“That’s-  _ interesting.  _ Why are you looking into it?”

 

“Remember that study group I told you last week?” Tim asks, rummaging through the papers scattered over his desk until he pulls out a flyer and hands it, “here. Look, it’s everywhere. At the lower corners, the logo, in the center of this molecule.”

 

“Dude.” Kon says, “this looks like a cult.”

 

“It’s not a cult. I didn’t join a cult.”

 

“You totally joined a cult.”

 

Before Tim can say anything else, the computer pings, signaling his deep search is finished. He pulls up the program and curses loudly. Kon whistles. The screen shows a number of pages and articles covering a wide range of subjects, from physics to biology, but all discussing the same idea: eternal life. 

 

And all of them credited to  _ Eternal Wisdom. _

 

*

 

_ Now _

 

“Wait, so it was called  _ Eternal Wisdom  _ and you didn’t think it was weird before?” Jason laughs, “holy shit, Replacement.  _ Eternal Wisdom _ ? Really?”

 

“I thought it was a stupid name.” Tim glares, “I’m sorry my mind didn’t jump to  _ crazy cult  _ immediately.”

 

“But what’s so bad about it?” Roy asks, “don’t get me wrong, cults are freaky, but you wouldn’t be here if they were just some regular nutjobs.”

 

“And when is anything as easy as that?” He sighs, “no, the study and research is just a front to find and recruit people. What they’re really doing is tax fraud, embezzlement, mild brainwashing, animal cruelty and trying to bring on the nordic apocalypse.”

 

Because of course they are. It’s Gotham. No one is simply trying to scam some money, oh no. It has to be the  _ nordic apocalypse.  _ Specifically the nordic one. God forbid they go with a regular old fashioned armageddon.

 

But the words  _ animal cruelty  _ loop on his mind and Jason is having serious flashbacks of a giant ass yellow python  being carried inside the Wayne manor. A feeling of foreboding settles in the pit of his stomach. 

 

“Tim.” He says calmly, “last week. The snake. Please, tell me it’s just a coincidence.”

 

“Well, it’s all Damian’s fault, really.”

 

*

 

_ Two weeks ago _

 

“Stop fidgeting,” Tim hisses, “you’re going to give us away.”

 

It’s 4:43am and they’re inside Eternal Wisdom Institute, the research facility located just on the outskirts of Gotham. This is their only real life base, since their operation runs mostly online, and by the way their books are looking, it’s where they’re laundering money. 

 

“There’s no one else here,” Kon hisses back, checking the hallway, “just hurry up.”

 

“I’m almost done,” he goes through the contents of the desk while his virus downloads all the information from their servers, “okay, let’s go. I left a backdoor so I can access it back home.”

 

Conner nods, leading him through the mazes of hallways to the exit. They had checked most of these labs before, finding mostly the expected experiences advertised in their unofficial articles. Physics of particles, organic chemistry, physiology. Everything cutting edge, way above their alleged income, but nothing that might endanger someone except maybe bankruptcy.

 

They’re almost reaching the elevator when Kon stops abruptly, swearing.

 

“What? What did you hear?”

 

“Downstairs. They’re  _ chanting  _ something now but I’m sure I heard a scream.”

 

Crap. He knew this had been too easy. “But we are in last level, according to the official plants. There must be a hidden floor, do you see anything?”

 

Tim waits, checking the walls for any hidden passages while Conner x-rays the place. If he pays attention, he can hear a faint noise coming from somewhere below them.

 

“There!” He points excited at the what looks like a broom closet. “There’s a hallway behind and a stairway leading down.”

 

Inside the closet nothing looks out of the ordinary; brooms, mops and cleaning products sit in the shelves, no sign of anything suspicious.

 

Except-

 

“Got it,” Tim grins, as the back wall slowly slides open, revealing the hidden hallway, “that shovel was way too old compared to all these stuff.”

 

Kon knocks shoulders with him, grinning back. It’s been a while since they went in missions together; Tim had been busy in Gotham, first trying to get Bruce back, then figuring out who Red Robin was going to be, but now things had settle a bit, or as much as they ever would, and the fact that Conner is back, alive, fine, is finally sinking in.

 

It’s nice, having his best friend back.

 

The hallway leads to a staircase, spiraling down to a large room, illuminated by candles and with an altar in the middle. Around it, dozens of hooded figures sway back and forth, chanting in what sounds vaguely like latin.

 

One of the figures, wearing a robe gleaming with jewels, steps forward to the altar. They’re carrying a giant sack over their shoulder, but it wiggles and shakes, and Tim is praying it’s not a person inside it.

 

The figure opens it, lets the content fall on the altar.

 

It’s definitely not a person.

 

From the sack, a large python slides out, hissing at the crowd.

 

“ _ What the fuck,” _ Kon whispers beside him, and Tim agrees wholeheartedly. “Are they going to-  _ shit.  _ They’re gonna kill the snake! What do we do?”

 

Tim wants to say  _ let’s get the hell out of here _ . He wants to escape while they can, because even though they are very capable and serious superheroes, it’s still two against roughly forty other people. 

 

But the guy with the flashy robe is waving a knife around, and Kon is right, he’s going to sacrifice that snake. And Damian had been prattling about animal rights since ever, and it’s rubbing off on him, all right? If they die tonight, it will all be Damian’s fault, and Tim is going to come back to haunt the brat. He will convince the entire ghost community to haunt him.

 

“We save the snake.” He sighs defeated, “we crash their meeting and stop the pointless killing before they graduate to human sacrifices.”

 

Conner doesn’t have to be told twice, and they don’t have to plan anything further either, falling into old habits and muscle memory. It’s easy, it’s what they did countless other times, even if it feels like a lifetime ago.

 

And god, it feels like multiple lifetimes ago.

 

The good news, is that they have the element of surprise on their side, and the great majority of the hooded people don’t know how to fight. 

 

The bad news is that the asshole with the knife is now holding the snake hostage.

 

“Uh,” says Kon.

 

“Turn yourselves in, or the snake gets it,” says the hooded asshole.

 

“Batman did not train me for this,” says Tim.

 

The snake hisses angrily.

 

“You fools! You think you can stop the will of Jörmungandr, the Great Serpent? You are but insects to him!” The hooded asshole laughed, “He will rise again and there is nothing you can do!”

 

“Great, he’s crazy,” Kon rolls his eyes, “why is everyone crazy in Gotham?”

 

“I want to joke it’s something in the water, but honestly, multiple villains have poisoned the water supply multiple times, so I really can’t,” Tim shrugs, focuses back on who must be the cult leader, “okay, I have to ask, you do know that Jörmungandr dies in the Ragnarok, right?”

 

“That is but lies spun by the other gods. Nothing is set in stone,” he waves the knife for emphasis, “our Lord will rise from the oceans and bring the end of this world. He will strike down the false gods from the sky, purge Midgard from idolatry. This world shall end, so His faithful believers must forever live in the halls of Valhalla.”

 

“Man, that’s messed up,” Conner sounds vaguely confused, “can you give us the snake now?”

 

“ _ No!”  _ He yells, “the Great Serpent has been denied too long, He hungers down in the depths of the oceans. Only when enough blood taints these waters will He rise again. Sacrifices must be made. It is an honor to die for such a noble cause.”

 

Tim is still wondering if he could throw a batarang fast enough to knock the knife out of his hands before he slices the snake, when the reptile strikes, quickly biting the hand holding it up.

 

The hooded leader yelps, dropping the serpent to the ground, and Kon dives in to catch it.

 

“Got it!” He makes a disgusted face, “oh god, it’s cold and weird, it’s staring at me, Robin, with its beady little eyes, make it stop-”

 

“Just give it to me,” Tim takes the snake, who seems to respond too slow, too unfocused, “I think they drugged it. I’ll run some tests bac-”

 

A knife fly past their heads and knocks a few candles down before clanking to the ground. The cult leader laughs hysterically before disappearing behind a secret door. 

 

The candles begin to burn the altar, flames spreading fast and filling the room with smoke. Even with Conner putting out the fire easily, they still need to help all the remaining cultists out before they faint from carbon monoxide poisoning. 

 

And it means the Jewelry Robe Asshole gets away.

 

And Tim, he gets a snake, apparently.

 

*

 

_ Now _

 

“Oh my god,” Jason laughs and laughs, and the  laughs some more, this is just too good, “only you could score this mess.”

 

“Hostage simulations don’t cover snakes,” Tim shakes his head, “Bruce needs to upgrade his training.”

 

“I swear to god,  _ this city,” _ Roy snorts, “only in Gotham.”

 

There’s a pause, where neither of them know what to say, and an awkward silence falls heavy on the booth. Tim fiddles with the straw on his soda. Jason steals back some of his fries. Roy eats his stolen fries.

 

Finally, “Anyway. Are you in, or what?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jason says, “do you really think these Eternal Assholes are going to do something dangerous?”

 

“ _ Only when enough blood taints these waters  _ sounds pretty ominous.” Tim grimaces, “I’m pretty sure animal sacrifices are only going to work for so long. That guy is crazy, he’ll begin killing people if we don’t stop him.”

 

Jason sighs. So much for a normal, ordinary day. He looks at Roy, who shrugs helplessly back. “What do you have in mind?”

 

“How do you feel about a trip to Blüdhaven?”

  
  
  



	2. this is for the snakes and the people they bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jason is itching to put on his helmet just to spite them._
> 
> _While he debates if it’s worth it or not, Roy rings the doorbell again, letting it ring for an uncomfortably long time. It brings a pinched look to the Replacement’s face, and Jason grins proudly at his friend._
> 
> _Something crashes inside the apartment._
> 
> _The door is thrown open._
> 
> _In front of them is Dick, hair sticking to all directions, a dark bruise on his cheekbone and a black eye, a desperate look on his face. “Oh thank god,” he says, zeroing on his youngest brother, “for the love of all that is holy, take your snake back, Tim. It’s trying to murder me!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Oh my god, I'm so sorry it took me this long, but college is kicking my butt. But extra long chapter to make it up to you guys?

There’s something deeply wrong about Dick’s apartment complex. And it’s not just Dick’s personal Dick-ness infecting it. Maybe it’s just that it’s too normal. Domestic, even. There’s probably a playground in the back somewhere. His neighbour is probably a kind old lady who feeds him apple pie and cookies.

 

Timmers had even parked his bike a few blocks away, and made Jason park his own bike farther still, because they looked  _ too suspicious. _ Right.

 

Jason is itching to put on his helmet just to spite them.

 

While he debates if it’s worth it or not, Roy rings the doorbell again, letting it ring for an uncomfortably long time. It brings a pinched look to the Replacement’s face, and Jason grins proudly at his friend.

 

Something crashes inside the apartment. 

 

The door is thrown open.

 

In front of them is Dick, hair sticking to all directions, a dark bruise on his cheekbone and a black eye, a desperate look on his face. “Oh thank god,” he says, zeroing on his youngest brother, “for the love of all that is holy, take your snake back, Tim. It’s trying to  _ murder  _ me!”

 

“It’s not mine,” Tim says instinctively, then frowns, pushing past his brother to walk inside, “and she’s just a snake, she’s not plotting your assassination.”

 

“That’s because you didn’t spend the weekend with it!” Dick throws his hands up, still on the doorway, “it’s definitely evil.”

 

“Sometimes I forget how melodramatic you are,” Jason says flatly, “and then things like this happen.”

 

“Jay!” Dick seems to notice him for the first time. He moves to hug him, arms flailing like the octopus monster that he is, but Jason is faster, dodging out of the way and pushing Roy to suffer in his place.

 

“Hey?” Roy wheezes, oxygen being squeezed out of his lungs.

 

“Roy?” The octopus monster asks, letting go of his victim, “what are you doing here?”

 

“Well, I, myself, am not exactly sure-”

 

“I needed moral support.” Jason cuts in.

 

“What? Why? For what?”

 

“Your general existence,” he shrugs, opens his mouth to insult him further, but Roy elbows him in the rib, pointed glare saying  _ be nice.  _ And you know what, Jason blames Dick for that too. Roy would never betray him like this before New York.

 

“Your bro was my ride home,” the traitor says, “but your other bro made us stop here first.”

 

Dick looks like he has more to say to that, but whatever was about to come out of his mouth is interrupted by Tim coming back, a five foot yellow snake around his neck like a scarf, and honestly, what do you say to that?

 

“Couldn’t you catch a plane?” Tim asks, as if there is nothing weird going on like, say,  _ a five foot yellow snake slithering down his arm. _

 

“I mean, yes, I could,” Roy shrugs, “but what’s the fun in that?”

 

“How  _ did  _ you get to Gotham anyway?”

 

“Not by stealing a car.” 

 

“ _ Nice,” _ Jason high fives him, ignoring the long suffering sigh coming from Dick and the mumbling about  _ condoning petty crimes. _

 

They all shuffle inside the apartment, and Jason takes the opportunity to look around. The place looks like a warzone. There are books strewn everywhere. One of the window panels is broken and taped shut with cardboard. It looked like it rained yesterday, the cardboard looked like it’d seen better days.

 

“Holy crap, Grayson,” Roy gapes, “what happened here?”

 

Jason isn’t too proud to admit there’s something comforting on seeing Dick Grayson not have his life together.

 

“What happened?” Dick is saying, voice rising steadily as he points to the snake, “ that  _ thing _ happened! It destroyed my apartment, tried to kill me, and then tried to commit suicide! And I had to stop it!”

 

Tim sighs, petting the snake and looking at his oldest brother condescendingly. “Dick. I know you’re under a lot of stress lately,” he steps forward, Dick stumbles back, “but Ada is just a snake, she’s not out to get you.”

 

“He named the snake,” Jason says, to no one in particular, “he freaking named the snake. Unbelievable.”

 

“Wait. What do you mean  _ tried to commit suicide _ ?” Tim hugs Ada the snake closer, like an old lady clutching her pearls, “what did you do to her?”

 

“I saved her, is what I did!” Dick glares, “ _ she  _ broke my window and tried to run away. Slide away. Slither away? Anyway. She almost fell off but I caught her in time. And then  _ she tried to choke me.” _

 

“I can’t believe it,” Tim sits down in the couch, the snake pooling on his lap and circling his arms, “did my mean brother hurt you, Ada? It won’t happen again, don’t worry, I’m here now, it’s okay.”

 

Dick makes a noise between a dying chicken and an enraged mammoth, and Jason wishes he had popcorn. It’s not often he lets himself be dragged into family affairs, choosing to stay at the outskirts of things, but as far as reunions go, at least this one is fairly entertaining.

 

And the fact there’s an unspoken agreement to avoid Bruce at all costs, well, it’s certainly a perk. 

 

But it’s not all rainbows. As much as he likes to see Dick out of his depth, there’s a pang in his chest twisting up his heart, and Jason tries to convince himself that it has nothing to do with Tim and Dick bickering, easy and familiar and exasperatedly fond, like real brothers.

 

“I can’t believe your lil’ bro named the snake Ada,” Roy says, coming to stand beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder. There’s a small smile on his lips and a knowing look on his eyes, and Jason is suddenly glad he tagged along. He had told Dick earlier that Roy was here as moral support. Maybe he wasn’t totally lying. “I bet it’s after Ada Lovelace. Did you know she was the first programmer? She was one badass lady.”

 

“Nerds.” Jason rolls his eyes, “both of you. Total dorks.”

 

“Hey, what can I say,” he shrugs, grinning, “I’m adorkable.”

 

“Oh my god,” Jason groans, burying his face in his hands to hide his giggles, “that was terrible, you’re  _ terrible _ .”

 

When he manages get it under control, and is confident he can keep a straight face, Jason looks up to find Roy grinning proudly, Tim looking half amused, half disturbed, and Dick absolutely delighted.

 

It’s enough to trigger his fight or flight response.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, nothing, Little Wing,” his idiotic brother rushes out, “can I just say I’m so glad you guys are friends again? Because you went so emo and-”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Dickhead,” Jason says hotly, “you of all people don’t get to talk about dramatics-”

 

“Aww, you missed me, Jaybird-”

 

“ _ Guys _ ,” Tim’s voice rises above the noise, “can we focus on the matter at hand?”

 

There’s a sigh, then Dick is getting up and disappearing inside one of the rooms. He comes back with a large file and hands it to Tim with a wary expression. “That’s all I got from the police’s and, guess what-  _ Arkham’s _ database. This guy spent a few months there before being released.”

 

“Great, officially crazy. What’s the name?”

 

“Daniel Wickham, 36. No known relatives, originally from Gotham. Has a Phd in molecular biology, masters in physics, and graduated at GU in chemistry with a minor in biochemistry.Used to teach molecular biology at Gotham University until 2008, when there was an incident with the Joker escaping Arkham and trying to poison the city. Apparently Wickham got exposed to the gas but fell in the ocean before we got everyone the antidote.” Tim reads, “but he washed up here five days later? The hospital records show dehydration, heat stroke, mild anemia but nothing else. And by wash up, I mean he was found wandering around the harbor and yelling about the apocalypse and sea monsters. That led to his brief period in Arkham. He was released after a few months and set up shop here in Blüdhaven ever since.”

 

“What-” Jason frowns, “how did he  _ survive _ ?”

 

“And what was he doing in those five days?” Roy wonders, “and shouldn’t the currents drag him to open sea?”

 

“None of this make sense,” Tim keeps flipping through the pages, “it says he’s working at a hardware store downtown. The research group is probably under an alias, which is probably buried under dozens shell companies. And from what Kon and I found last week, all donations bounce through another dozen of accounts in the Cayman Islands.”

 

“Which are, conveniently, fiscal paradises,” Dick shakes his head, “so we can’t keep track of the money or tie anything back to him.”

 

“Five days floating around pumped full of Joker’s gas and suddenly this guy’s a Moriarty?” Jason snorts, “I don’t buy it.”

 

“And you had a point before, how  _ did _ he survive? Five days without water or food, probably in and out of consciousness?” Tim types something on his phone, “and the currents  _ should _ have led him to the ocean, not Blüdhaven.

 

“Yeah, all I can say is, this guy is  _ fishy _ as fuck.”

 

“ _ For christ’s sake, Roy.” _

 

“What? I’m just keeping up with the  _ sea _ -ne here.”

 

“Terrible puns aside,” Jason sighs, “I think it’s time we pay Danny here a visit.”

 

*

 

_ Yellow Brick Hardware  _ is so painfully mundane they miss it twice before spotting it between a Taco Bell that reeks food poisoning and a grocery store that screams money laundering.

 

Tim  _ hates  _ Blüdhaven.

 

“Are you sure it was a good idea leaving Roy to babysit the murder snake?” Dick asks, frowning as they enter the small store, “or snake-sit, if you will.”

 

“I  _ will  _ punch you in the face,” Jason groans, rolling his eyes and immediately wandering off.

 

“Ada will be fine,” Tim hums distractedly, fishing his phone out of his pocket, “she seemed to like him.”

 

Dick’s frown deepens, and he looks vaguely like he might have more to say, but instead, he smooths out his expression, looking around for Wickham, and Tim stops paying attention altogether.

 

**[ 16:43 pm ]** **_Kon:_ ** _ bring me a taco pls _

 

**[ 16:44 pm ]** **_you:_ ** _ i saw a rat run out the door and puke _

 

**[ 16:44 pm ]** **_you:_ ** _ even the rats are sick. THE RATS. _

 

**[ 16:45 pm ]** **_Kon:_ ** _ your point is????????? _

 

**[ 16:45 pm ]** **_Kon:_ ** _ i want chilli too _

 

**[ 16:47 pm ]** **_Kon:_ ** _ tim???????? _

 

Tim silences his phone as their target finally approaches them with a cheery smile, bright yellow shirt clashing horribly with his red pants.

 

“Welcome to Yellow Bricks!” he says, “my name’s Daniel, how can I help you boys today?”

 

Wickham looks completely normal without the robes, dirty blond hair meticulously combed over with too much gel and not a hint of the glazed over look on his eyes. If Tim hadn’t seen the photo on the file, hadn’t heard that same voice, he’d never believe this guy is the head of some apocalyptic cult.

 

And yet, on closer inspection, there’s a snake tattoo peaking out of his shirt sleeve, and around his neck he wears a coin, an ouroboros carved in the metal.

 

Definitely their guy, then.

 

“I’m afraid we don’t sell those, sir,” Wickham is saying with an apologetic voice, “but if there’s anything else-”

 

“No, no, but it’s literally written in the front,” Dick argues back, and Tim is beginning to think he shouldn’t have tuned out of the conversation before, “with like, big bold golden letters-”

 

“Yes, sir, I am aware of the name of our store,” Wickham says, patiently, “but we don’t sell yellow bricks. Golden or otherwise.”

 

See, this is what he gets for not paying attention. Dick’s doing it on purpose, Tim knows. This is payback. He’s trying to embarrassing him now for texting while on mission. This is what regrets sounds like.

 

“But Dan- can I call you Dan?” Dick goes on, “ _ Dan,  _ I’m telling you, money’s not an issue! We need our yellow brick road, man! How else would we play Magic of Oz!”

 

“Sir, please, do not call me Dan-”

 

“Fine, but that’s not a no, does that mean we can figure out a way to get me my yellow bricks?” He almost sounds convincingly cheerful, “you see, I’m gonna be the Wizard! And this one here, he’s gonna play Toto!”

 

There’s a lot of things Tim would like to say in answer to that. Half of them wouldn’t blow their cover. But all of them would certainly scandalize the old lady by the counter.

 

Instead, Tim grits his teeth and smiles, silently counting to ten.

 

“Sir, I don’t think- _ maybe _ ,” Wickham scratches the back of his head, “maybe you could buy yellow paint along with the bricks? Paint them later?”

 

“Uh,” Dick blinks. He clearly hadn’t thought he’d get this far, “that. That might work, actually. What shade are we talking about?”

 

Tim tunes out the conversation again, leaving his brother to keep the man busy, and wanders off himself, searching for the blind spot of the security cameras to check the scans his wrist computer had been running.

 

Deeper inside the store, he finds a hidden space between a stack of cement sacks and the wall, and wedges himself there, taking his notebook out of his bag and syncing it.

 

The place looks legit, no sign of hidden rooms or secret hallways, everything seems to match the official plants of the place, and hacking their servers is refreshingly easy. Again, nothing out of the ordinary; bills, company emails, accounts, google history, server files. All clean. Whatever this guy is up to, the store has nothing to do with it. 

 

He’s halfway out of their servers already when something catches his eyes. The security feed is caught in a fifteen seconds loop.

 

_ Finally. _

 

It’s not that hard to override it, whoever did it was good, but Tim’s way better, and soon he has the live footage playing on his screen.

 

“Of course.” He sighs. Of course the only suspicious behavior going on here would be theirs.

 

The feed shows Jason snooping around the backroom, opening boxes and looking over sacks of cement and sand. He’s wearing his helmet. Tim doesn’t know where he got it, but he’s blaming Arsenal. On the screen the Red Hood waves his hand and flips the bird to the camera. The helmet makes impossible to see his face, but somehow it gives off a cheeky expression.

 

Tim feels his eye twitch, but he lets the camera back on loop, rewriting the code to leave no bread crumbs to follow this time. Jason can figure out how to undo it on his own.

 

When he gets back, Dick and Wickham are bent over a book, still discussing different shades of yellow, but his brother looks up, throwing him an inquisitive look. Tim shakes his head, they’re not ready to go yet.

 

Five minutes later Jason materializes beside them seemingly out of thin air, no helmet in sight but a thin sheen of white powder covering him and stumbling a bit into Wickham, almost knocking the book out of his hands.

 

“Oh, hey, there you are, Jay.” Dick says, voice a little strained, “is that- you’re covered in-”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jason blinks, “can we go  _ now _ ?”

 

“Sir, is that cement-”

 

“Well, look at the time,” Tim rushes out, “we’re going to be late for rehearsal if we don’t leave  _ now  _ Dick.”

 

“What? Oh right,” he catches up quickly, side-eyeing Jason checking his watch every five seconds, “right, thank you for your time, Dan, we’ll be coming back to look over the bricks, but now I’m afraid we have to go.”

 

“It’s no problem, we’ll be waiting and-”

 

“That’s really great, dude,” Jason takes both of them by the arm and starts dragging them out of the store, “awesome, now godspeed, until whenever.”

 

Jason drags them until they reach the sidewalk, finally letting go to brush the powder off himself, but not offering any explanation whatsoever.

 

“So, meet you guys back at my place?” Dick asks, already throwing a leg over his bike, “I’m assuming we don’t want to be anywhere near here in the next five minutes?”

 

“Well, you could say that,” Jason shrugs, eyes squinting at the sun as he looks for his own bike, “god, I fucking hate this city. See ya, losers.”

 

They watch as Jason crosses the street, yelling at a shady man loitering by his motorcycle. Tim almost feels bad for the guy, he couldn’t have chosen a worst bike to steal.

 

“We don’t  _ have  _ to step in, right?” Dick shrugs, pointedly looking the other way before his gaze lands on Tim, “you coming, Timmy?”

 

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps, checks his phone, sighs, “but you go ahead, I have to do something first.”

 

“Suit yourself, Little Bird.” And with that, Dick speeds away. 

 

*

 

“What took you so long, Replacement?” Jason is laying sprawled in the couch, idly flipping through channels, but looks up when Tim opens the door, raising one eyebrow.

 

Tim sighs, something that he seems to do a lot more whenever one or more of his siblings is around. “There was a line at the Taco Bell.”

 

“Did you say tacos?” Roy perks up from where he’s sitting on the floor, back against the couch and Ada on curled on his lap. “Do you have chilli too?”

 

After putting his bags on the kitchen table, Tim drops beside Roy, Ada immediately going to him. “Hey girl,” he strokes her head, “and no one’s touching that food poisoning bomb.”

 

“Buzzkill,” Jason drawls, halfheartedly.

 

Roy pouts a little, trying to get Ada to go back to him, but gives up fairly quickly, choosing to throw his head back in the cushions and talk quietly with Jason. Tim tries not to intrude, doing his best to focus on the terrible talk show playing on the TV.

 

It’s kind of nice, seeing Jason relax for once, even if it makes Tim miss the Teen Titans. But if he’s being honest, he’s been thinking about them a lot more lately anyway. Kon, Bart, Cassie. How long has it been since he last spoke to any of them? If Conner hadn’t been crashing at his place every other night, would Tim really have been talking to him at all? 

 

And it’s not like he doesn’t want to see them, _ he does _ , but everything’s been so crazy lately he hasn’t had the time. Tim had been meaning to call them now that things had seemed to settle down, but with all this cult stuff, how can he?

 

After this. When he wraps this up, he’s going to San Francisco. Yeah, he’s going to-

 

“So, what did you find, Little Wing?” Dick flops down in the loveseat near the window, hair still dripping from the shower, “our little brother’s here, come on, share with the class.”

 

Jason says nothing, pretending to be asleep, until Roy pokes him in the ribs. Then, still glaring at his friend in what everyone pretends is not fond exasperation, he says, “well, it’s best if I show you, really. Behold,” he pulls a forensic bag from somewhere inside his jacket, “a very pretty knife.”

 

Tim is closer, so he reaches out first, taking the bag carefully not to disturb Ada. Inside there is, indeed, a very pretty knife, with colorful jewels all around the handle and an ouroboros at the base of the blade, but more importantly, along with the jewels and patterns, there’s blood staining the metal. Tim feels his stomach sinking, guessing that’s probably not animal blood. He throws it to Dick before turning his attention back to Jason “Where did you find it?”

 

“Buried inside a sack of cement,” he shrugs, “what did you think this powder shit was? Cocaine?”

 

Another poke from Roy. Jason grumbles. Tim feels vindicated.

 

“Whatever,” Jason flicks his friend’s head. “Anyway, did  _ you  _ find anything useful in the computers?”

 

“Not really,” Tim says, “but then again, I was looking for financial crimes, not murder evidence.”

 

“Did you leave a backdoor at least?”

 

“Of course I did,” he snaps, indignantly, “what do you take me for? An amateur?”

 

“Honestly? That’s exactly what I think, Timothy.” Jason deadpans, then, “if you poke me again, so help me god, I  _ will  _ cut your finger off, Harper.”

 

Tim snorts. Roy pokes him, smirking even as he ducks down and dodges Jason trying to bat him away halfheartedly at best.

 

“Guys,” Dick’s voice cuts through their bickering, grave and serious for the first time this afternoon, “Damian just texted me.”

 

Silence.

 

“They found a body in Gotham Harbor.”   
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. heaven ain't close in a place like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please, read the chapter notes. Trigger Warnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's still Sunday? Kinda? I'm not that late this time!
> 
> That being said, this chapter was a bitch to write, but so much fun? I have the basics of this fic fleshed out, but most of it is decided as I write it, so there were times I was like, "bitch did what now?"
> 
> That was embarassing I'm sorry.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING, in this chapter a corpse is described and discussed, so if body horror or gore makes you uncomfortable, you should skip all sections labeled _GCPD Morgue_. It's nothing major, but just to stay on the safe side. You're not missing out anything, just me embarassing myself with my google level of medical knowledge.
> 
> Also, catch me here, completely ignoring wednesday's Titan issue because Roy deserves happiness and friends that support and believe in him. Bring the epic bromance back, you cowards. Let Roy Harper have nice things.
> 
> Okay, I hope y'all enjoy this trainwreck.

“Is everyone here, or what?” Jason asks, knowing his boredom would seep into his voice even through the helmet, “because I don’t really feel like standing here all night.”

 

“No one is asking you to stay, Todd,” Damian smirks, “in fact, I would much prefer if you did not.”

 

“Don’t mind the brat,” Tim shrugs, not taking his eyes off his wrist computer, “he’s still salty Batman didn't let him go after Mr.Freeze with him and Nightwing.”

 

The kid scowls, but then again, when is that kid not scowling. Jason doesn’t take it personally, really, and isn’t that some goddamn progress? 

 

But the fact is, there’s an itch underneath his skin, constantly buzzing and reminding him that yes, he’s back in Gotham. Yes, he’s in a rooftop with too many bats, hoping Dick will manage the impossible and keep the Big Bad Bat too busy to notice what is, honestly, way too many people trying to crack this case.

 

“This is kind of a downer,” Roy says, wistfully staring off the Gotham skyline, “I expected more action, to be honest.”

 

“What is he even doing here?” Damian complains, “this is none of your business, you have no right to be here, archer.”

 

“Listen, Mini-Bat-”

 

Jason doesn’t get to finish that thought, as two figures land on the rooftop, laughing breathlessly. By the ungodly amounts of purple one of them is wearing, he’s guessing it’s Stephanie and Cass. 

 

“We’re here!” They step out of the shadows and Steph grins brightly, “and can I just say, this is the best freaking thing I heard all week, honestly.”

 

“Someone  _ died _ , Batgirl!” Tim says, trying not to sound too offended, “this isn’t funny.”

 

“Well, yeah, not  _ that  _ part, obviously,” she concedes, “but you accidentally joining a cult? A riot.”

 

“It is a little funny.” Cass agrees, grinning mischievously. 

 

Mostly, Jason wishes once more he had popcorn. And by the amused look on Roy’s face, he’s not the only one.

 

“We all knew this would eventually happen, Drake.” Damian smirks, “the weak minded always fall prey to these organizations.”

 

No, okay, this time Jason can’t help it. He needs to lean on the wall for support as he laughs.

 

“First, that’s a very ignorant way of thinking and actually not true, so joke’s on you,” Tim glares, furiously ignoring his blushing, “second,  _ names. _ And third,  _ et tu _ , Black Bat?”

 

Cass shrugs, grin widening.

 

“Fine. Let’s just work, okay? You can all make fun of me later, but we don’t have much time now.”

 

“What do you guys have so far?” Batgirl asks, “do we have any leads?”

 

“Our main concern right now is finding Wickham and bringing him in before he kills anyone else. We didn’t have enough proof to link him to any crimes earlier, but the blood on the knife matches the victim’s, and I’m betting the digital prints from the handle will be a perfect match for Daniel.” Red Robin explains quickly, “on that note, there’s the dead body. Coroner’s report says our John Doe drowned and all injuries were caused by scavengers.”

 

“Incompetents,” the newest Robin huffs, “now we must waste our time doing their jobs.”

 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Tim grimaces, “and someone needs to check out where they found the body, see if the GCPD missed anything. It’s a little far-fetched, but any clue as to where the primary crime scene is would be very helpful.”

 

“Alright,” Jason says, “so we’re splitting up, right? Arsenal and I can tail Wickham, see if he leads us somewhere fun before dealing with him.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Roy grins, pulling one of his trick arrows. He presses a hidden button and a holographic map of the city appears, a red dot blinking in one of the corners. “Always wanted to test this one out.”

 

“Fine,” Steph shrugs, “how about we check out the docks, Cass?”

 

Cass tilts her head, thinking, and then nods.

 

“And that leaves-” Tim stops, horrified, “ _ no. _ ”

 

“I require no assistance,” Damian says adamantly, sounding disturbed himself, “this is ridiculous. Drake would only get in my way.”

 

“Great! It’s settled them,” Jason claps his hands, not bothering to hide his glee, “Replacement and the Brat Wonder can both go to the morgue play doctor.”

 

“Hood, why do you hate me like this? I thought we were past this-”

 

“- _ tt.  _ I do not have to listen to any of you-”

 

“- Batgirl, please, come on-”

 

“-I do not even have to  _ be  _ here, I should have told Father-”

 

“-Black Bat? Arsenal? Wait, guys, let’s talk about this-  _ guys?” _

 

*

 

_ Somewhere near Chinatown _

 

“Any sign of Freeze?” Dick asks, just to fill the silence, because he’s supposed to keep Bruce busy, but he doesn’t know where any of the others are or what’s going on, and it’s making him nervous. He’s sitting here in the batmobile, resisting the urge to fidget, and hoping Bruce is distracted enough by Mr.Freeze. “We should’ve seen more ice by now, right?”

 

“Stay focused,” Bruce grunts, “Fries must be planning something.”

 

It’s gonna be a long night.

 

*

 

_ Narrows _

 

“I gotta give ya this, Jaybird,” Roy comments, watching Jason perched on the rooftop, binoculars trained on their target, “it’s never boring around you, man.”

 

“Didn’t ask you to stay,” Jason doesn’t look up, but his shoulders twitch almost imperceptibly, “I’m pretty sure there’s a plane ticket on my table that should’ve left two hours ago.”

 

Two years ago Roy would think this was Jason telling him to fuck off. But he knows better now, he knows Jason is more bark and mostly no bite with the people he cares about. And he knows it’s been a little too long since they’ve done this, even if it’s the easiest thing to just fall back into old habits. 

 

This is the closest to  _ I’m glad you stuck around  _ in Jason-speak, and it’s cool, Roy gets it. 

 

“What can I say,” he shrugs, he can speak this too, “I’m too invested on this to leave now.”

 

Jason doesn’t say anything to that, but Roy could swear the line on his shoulders was less tense.

 

Before boredom could set in, the light on Wickham’s apartment turns off and they’re quickly on their feet, ready to trail him. “We should’ve taken the bike.” Roy sighs forlornly.

 

“Too much noise. Besides,” Jason stops at the edge, a wicked sharp grin flashing before he puts on his helmet, “where’s the fun in that?”

 

He jumps, and Roy curses, following after him.

 

*

 

_ GCPD Morgue _

 

“I think it’s this one,” Tim lifts the sheet over the corpse, “yup, that’s our John Doe.”

 

Damian says nothing, sticking to his silent treatment, and honestly, that’s more than fine with Tim. The less that kid talks, the faster they can get this done. 

 

“Hey, the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tim hisses, “jesus christ, put that scalpel down!”

 

“How do you want me to perform an autopsy without a scalpel, imbecil?”

 

“No one’s autopsying anything here,” Tim pinches the bridge of his nose, “don’t you think someone would notice if we cut him open again?”

 

“Considering the complete fools who work here, no I do not think so.” Damian says haughtily, but puts the blade back in the tray, “but don’t just stand there, at least  _ try _ to be useful, parasite.”

 

Tim feels the beginning of a headache looming in the back of his head and silently prays for patience. They don’t have much time until the night shift crew realizes they need to reboot the security system to unlock the door, and there’s still a lot to do.

 

This would be so much easier if only they could access the batcave.

 

He gives Damian one last withering look, before focusing on the body in front of him. Or, what was left of it, anyway. The coroner hadn’t been exaggerating on the scavenger animals. Several chunks of flesh are missing, leaving bones and organs exposed, the eyeballs are gone too, along with the left foot and at least three fingers. The bloated skin is pale with greenish bruises, and on the chest the sewn shut Y cut stands out with thick black stitches. 

 

It makes him a little sick, and Tim is relieved it’s not Jason stuck with this job. Although, this isn’t something a thirteen year old should have to see either. Damian might be a pain in the ass and he might have witnessed worse in the League of Assassins, but still. They were supposed to be better than the League.

 

“Why don’t  _ you  _ come be useful and comb through the coroner’s report while  _ I  _ handle the evidence they found?”

 

“I do not take orders from you!” Damian glares, “ _ I  _ will handle whatever evidence there is. You can waste your time going over their crude conclusions.”

 

Damian marches to the table and away from the corpse, and Tim fights off a smile.

 

*

 

_ Gotham Harbor _

 

“You know what, Cass?” Steph kicks a rock as they approach the docks, “this isn’t as fun as I thought it would be.”

 

“Too early,” Cass smiles, “a lot can still happen.”

 

“You’re right, I guess,” she grins back, “it’s just that- no, nevermind. You’re totally right, there’s still plenty of time to kick ass.”

 

It’s not that Steph doesn’t like this task, she’s just not crazy about it. Sure, the view is kinda okay, even if the smog blurs half the stars, and there’s a total of zero gross dead bodies-- she’s seen a documentary once, drowned corpses are the  _ worst _ \-- but come  _ on _ , this is verging on  _ boring. _

 

There isn’t even yellow tape here anymore, people have been walking up and down the sand all evening, this is the single most contaminated crime scene  _ ever,  _ what is she even  _ doing _ here? 

 

A finger taps her forehead softly and Stephanie blinks, gaze focusing back on the girl in front of her. “Thinking too much.” Cass says, “come back to Earth.”

 

“Sorry,” she smiles apologetically. “I’m good, let’s get to work.”

 

She still feels a little dumb, looking for something that isn’t there, and she blames Tim. He always makes everything weird. God knows this couldn’t have been something easy. No. Everything has always to be so fucking weird with them Bats. 

 

“Look!” Cass calls, suddenly breaking the silence, and Steph rushes over to where she’s crouched in the sand. In her hand is a white shell, small and delicate, and she looks so delighted, Steph feels her own mood improving. 

 

“Damn, where did you find it?” She smiles, hands on her hips, “I’ve never seen those around here. Water’s too dirty, you know? I don’t know how the crabs survive. I mean. I guess I do, they probably live off all those people,  _ you know _ ,” she drops her voice a notch, trying to sound spooky, “ _ sleeping with the fish. _ ”

 

Cass giggles, pocketing the shell in her utility belt. “Lucky.” A grin, “see? Better already.”

 

Stephanie agrees with a laughter, yeah, it’s not the most exciting job on the world, sure, but at least she’s not alone.

 

*

 

_ Deeper into Chinatown _

 

“Hey, B, are you  _ really _ sure we’re on the right track?”

 

“The street is frozen.”

 

“Yeah, but are you sure?”

 

“That restaurant is a block of ice.”

 

“Yeah, but are you  _ sure _ ?”

 

*

 

_ Narrows _

 

“Where the fuck this guy’s going?” Jason grunts, as they press themselves against a building, “it’s almost 1am, he needs to chill.”

 

“Says the man who has never been chill on his life, like, ever,” Roy says, “Jay, you probably have negative chill by now.”

 

“Do you make your mission in life to annoy the crap out of everyone or is it just me?”

 

“Nah, that’s just a sidequest.”

 

Roy snickers as Jason groans and checks the street. They were almost out of the Narrows, and Wickham seemed to almost know he’s being followed, taking turns and loops, but they’ve been chalking it up to paranoia and caution. After all, his file had mentioned it several times, but they’re trying to fall behind a little just to be sure.

 

“We’re good,” Jason tugs at his quiver, “where’s he now? Did the arrow ping?”

 

“Hang on,” Roy turns it on again, “nope, he’s two streets to the left and on the move.”

 

“At least he’s leaving this shit hole,” he checks the street again before stepping out of the alley, and boy, talk about paranoia.

 

“You know, the tracker arrow is working better than I thought. Maybe I should add bugs or a lil’ cam, get some audio or video recorded.” Roy says, already going through the mechanics in his head, “yeah, that’s feasible. What d’you think, Jaybird?”

 

“I think Danny boy here is going to the docks,” Jason picks up his pace, but not before raising one eyebrow, “feasible? Is that your word of the day?”

 

“Fuck you,” Roy says mildly.

 

Jason laughs, it echoes down the empty street.

 

*

 

_ GCPD Morgue _

 

“Well, I can see why they just chalked it up to drowning and washes their hands,” Tim frowns, “the lungs have been damaged by scavengers, crabs, I’m guessing, and there’s no way to know if there was water inside prior death.”

 

“Are you finally admitting defeat, Drake?” Damian looks up from the tox screen he had been reading, smirking, “have you realized this is beyond your poor intellect?”

 

“Shut up, brat.” He glares, “I’ve found multiple wounds that could have been from our knife, I sent data back to my Robin’s nest but I’m still waiting on those scans. The worst of this  _ does _ seem to be all post mortem, but if we can match the stab wounds, we can pin him down for attempted murder, at the very least.”

 

“Well, they screened him for commonly used substances and found high levels of diazepam in his blood.” Damian says, sounding irritated, “how could they still call it accidental drowning is beyond me.”

 

“Probably thought it was suicide.” Tim shrugs, taking off the latex gloves and throwing them in the trash, “Valium isn’t hard to find. Guy swallows some pills, falls in the ocean.”

 

“Are you saying you agree there is no foul play on this?”

 

“Not at all,” he covers the body again, “I’m just saying, with so many bigger crimes happening out there, I can see why they would want to wrap this up quickly. They saw an easy way out and took it.”

 

“Pathetic.”

 

Damian huffs, and Tim isn’t sure why he even bothers. “Did you find anything else?”

 

“Yes, although I’m not entirely sure if they are relevant or not,” the kid throws him one of the evidence bags, “three white shells. I believe they are not local.”

 

“No, they’re not.” Tim examines them against the light, “they’re too perfect to be natural. Where did they find it?”

 

“Inside his stomach.”

 

Tim puts it back on the table quickly. Why is everything so freaking gross in this case? He checks his phone, Kon hasn’t called back yet. The comms were eerily silent for the amount of people on this case. He sighs, coming over to look at the reports with Damian. 

 

So freaking  _ gross _ .

 

*

 

_ Gotham Harbor _

 

“I think we should call it a night,” Steph asks, brushing sand off her cape, “I don’t think there’s anything else to find here tonight.”

 

They’ve combed through every inch on the small area where the body was found and in a perimeter of seven meters from there, but no sign of any evidence left behind.

 

“Perhaps,” Cass trails off, staring at the street behind them, “someone is watching. Alley on your left.”

 

“What?” Steph can’t really make out anything, not when it’s this dark out, but she trusts Cass. “Want to get the drop on ‘em?”

 

“Hell yes!”  

 

And Stephanie laughs as they start walking back to the street, because that’s such a Harper thing to say and Cass is clearly spending way too much time with her. She wishes a little that the other girl would pick up her Bluebird uniform again, but she understands.

 

Although,  _ damn _ , the three of them would be  _ awesome  _ on the streets together.

 

They turn a corner and quickly make their way up the building, hoping to take a good look on their stalker. And it pays off, as not too long after a figure in jeans and a hoodie walks down the street, stopping and looking around in confusion.

 

_ Gotcha. _

 

“So,” Steph begins when they land behind the guy, “wanna tell us why you’re spying on us?”

 

“Wait,” the figure turns, and long red hair spills out of the hood. Steph takes a step back, blinking, for a second seeing Barbara on this girl’s face. Because it  _ is  _ a girl, with ginger hair and a fierce look on her eyes, “I just want to help!”

 

Before deciding anything, Steph looks at Cass, silently asking her opinion, and gets a nod. Good enough. “Who are you?”

 

“My name’s Nora Burns,” the girl says, “and I know who killed Allan Beaumont.”

 

*

 

_ Chinatown _

 

“Fine, I’ll admit it, you were right.”

 

“Nightwing,  _ focus _ .”

 

“What? I could do this all night. Right, Freeze?”

 

“Don’t antagonize the villain, please.”

 

“Oh my god, do you have to use this flat tone all the time? I’m trying to lighten up here!”

 

“Nightwing.”

 

“Fine, fine, no need to bat-glare, shutting up- wait, fuck,  _ fuck,  _ I’m stuck- B, hold on, no, come back-”

 

*

 

_ Rooftop across GCPD _

 

“Superboy just called,” Tim says, “the computer said the stab wounds are a match. And those shells are made of plaster and plastic, probably something out of a cheap store.”

 

“What are we waiting for, then?” Damian asks, arms crossed, “why aren’t we calling the Commissioner?”

 

“We need to wait on Red Hood,” he explains, sitting beside the kid on the roof, “he’s tailing our guy. Maybe he can lead us to their new headquarters.”

 

“Right,” the littlest Robin huffs, “as if Todd could hold off killing a criminal.”

 

“Hood wouldn’t kill him,” Tim says, trying valiantly to squash the doubt beginning to creep in, “he  _ wouldn’t.  _ Besides, Arsenal’s with him.”

 

“Because  _ he _ has such a strong moral code,” Damian snorts, “admit it, Drake. You just sent Wickham to his execution.”

 

“No. They work well together and Hood’s been doing better lately, you know that.” 

 

“If it helps you sleep better at night,” the kid shrugs.

 

Tim wants to tell him exactly what would help him sleep better, but the words die on his lips as his comm cracks into life, Stephanie’s voice coming in.

 

_ “Red Robin? This is Batgirl. There’s been a new development.” _

 

“What happened? Are you okay?” He’s on his feet in an instant, “where’s Black Bat?”

 

“ _ Yeah, no, we’re fine, relax. But you know the body on the morgue?” _

 

“I’ve been elbows deep on it for the last hour, so I’m aware of it, yes.”

 

_ “Okay, one? Gross. So gross. Way too much information. Ew, ew-” _

 

“Batgirl,” He sighs.

 

_ “Right. Dead body. So, his name is Allan Beaumont. You are very welcome.” _

 

“What? How do you know that?”

 

_ “I know that and much more because we, and by that I mean me and Ca- Black Bat, found you your perfect star witness: Nora Burns, his girlfriend. Say hi, Nora.” _

 

_ “Hello?”  _ A heavily accented voice speaks hesitantly. Ireland? Maybe Scotland?

 

“Batgirl, this is great! Bring her in to get her story, we can keep an eye on her until Hood comes in with Wickham.”

 

_ “Will do, Boss. Connection sucks here, so, Batgirl over and out.” _

 

Everything is going great, chess pieces in place, and Tim can already see the checkmate. Honestly, in hindsight, it’s so obviously too good to be true, he should’ve known this is where things would begin to derail.

 

Another voice comes in through the comms. “ _ About that. It might take a while.” _

 

“Hood? What’s going on?”

 

“ _ We followed your guy to the docks. Took him forever, the paranoid bastard. But he’s boarding a ship now.” _

 

_ Oh no.  _ Tim knows that tone. It’s Jason’s  _ I’m about to do something stupid  _ voice.

 

“Hood, don’t try to go after him, we can send the marine to pick him up later-”

 

_ “He could make a run for it. There’s too many harbors he could get off.” _

 

“The tracker-”

 

“ _ Won’t work if he goes into his cabin. It’s on the lower levels. Ship’s acting as a Faraday cage.”  _ This time is Roy that answers.

 

“We’ll figure it out, don’t be dumb, Batgirl has an eyewitness-”

 

_ “Can’t risk it. See you on the flipside, Red.” _

 

“ _ Hood!  _ Jason? Damn it!” Tim swears as Jason’s comm goes offline, “Arsenal? You need to stop him, at least wait for backup-”

 

“ _ Sorry, it’s nothin’ personal, kid.”  _

 

His comm goes static too. 

 

“Grayson says it is impolite to say  _ I told you so _ ,” Damian snickers, “but I  _ did _ warn you.”

 

“Damian, I swear to god, if you don’t shut up now, I’m going to throw you from this rooftop right back into that morgue.” Tim needs to think, and fast.  _ Think, think, think.  _ “I’m going after him. You wait here for the girls. If you don’t hear from us in an hour, call Superboy.”

 

“I am not going to-”

 

“ _ Robin.”  _ Tim cuts him off, he needs Damian to  _ listen _ for  _ once _ , “this is not up for debate. We don’t know what’s on that ship. I need you here if something goes wrong, you’re the only one who knows where we’re going.  _ Do you understand? _ ”

 

“Yes,” Damian nods, scowling, “but I am not calling the Clone.”

 

“Call Superboy, or you’re not visiting Ada again. Be careful, and stay safe.”

 

And with that Tim jumps down, looking for his bike. He’s speeding away, toward the docks, when his comm cracks to life again, and a stilted  _ good luck _ rings with the wind.   
  
  


 

*


	4. don't go round tonight, it's bound to take your life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. This took me forever, I know. But. I had this awful writer's block and college decided to make my life as hard as possible, so I'm sorry for the delay. Really, I'm not that happy about this chapter, but I figured I should run with it to move the story forward and get over this block. It also hasn't been proofread so, sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> Without further ado, here.

“Okay, we’re inside the murder boat,” Roy whispers, “now what?”

 

Jason rolls his eyes and ignores him. They need silence and stealth to pull this off and neither of them are especially good at any of those things. Well, supposedly, Jason should be, bat training and all, but from experience he knows better than to believe his luck will give him a break this time.

 

Getting inside wasn’t the difficult part. They’re used to the mechanics of infiltrating a ship. It was almost too easy.

 

It set off a few alarm bells on his head.

 

But there’s not much choice than stay hidden in the cargo bay, even if it’s a little too empty, at least until they can get a idea of what’s going on on the upper levels.

 

“Can you get the map of this place or something?” Jason asks, “or get a location on Wickham?”

 

Roy shakes his head, “too much interference. Maybe if we were up in the deck, but down here it’s a no-go.”

 

Okay. Jason can work with that. They’ve gone with worse before. “We need to go up then.”

 

“Not that I don’t agree with you, ‘cause I do, but I don’t know if you noticed,” Roy gestures vaguely at their clothes, “but my uniform and your helmet kinda scream suspicious activity.”

 

Sometimes Jason misses working alone. “The crates, idiot. I think I saw a few of those robes inside. Quick, help me open this one.”

 

*

 

Tim is going to kill Jason. 

 

Bruce will just have to understand. It’s the only way. Tim is going to  _ murder  _ Jason, because he had  _ one _ simple task. Tail the guy, see what comes up, arrest him. 

 

But no, god forbid Jason Todd follow an order. He just has to go and fucking board the murder boat. 

 

And a fat lot of good Arsenal is doing. That’s another mugshot for his hitlist. Tim is going to kill them both, throw their corpse overboard.  _ Keep an eye on Jason _ , Dick had told him.  _ He’s gonna do something stupid.  _ Dick had warned.  _ I got this,  _ Roy had said.

 

They had  _ one  _ job.

 

He can see the ship in the docks ahead. It’s a cargo, looming threateningly in the distance.

 

Daniel Wickham stabbed Allan Beaumont 13 times with a ceremonial knife.

 

God knows what else he has on that ship.

 

And of course,  _ of course _ , Jason would want in on the murder boat. Why wouldn’t he, it’s the most illogical, stupid, reckless thing to do. It’s clearly right up his alley.

 

Tim really can’t express how much he wants to kill them.

 

*

 

“Heya, Gremlin,” Stephanie says cheerfully, as she lands on the roof, “where’s our fearless leader?”

 

Robin is sulking, and while that’s admittedly not out of the ordinary for him, the lack of Tims around is mildly worrying. This case is already weird enough without them being actively weird, and it’s gonna be tough, but Steph is positive they can manage being functional human beings for a night. 

 

“Red Hood and Arsenal went rogue, as I predicted from the start, so Red Robin is trying to stop them from boarding the enemy’s ship.” Damian rattles off, crossing his arms,  “he asked me to wait for you here, the witness must be protected until she gives an official statement to the Commissioner.”

 

“Oh my god, how did that even- it’s been barely fifteen minutes!” honestly,  _ this family _ , “and  _ you _ listened to  _ him _ ?”

 

“I shouldn’t be surprised  _ that _ is what you got from my report, of course you would be incapable of seeing the bigger problem.” He sniffs, “where’s Black Bat? She is preferable than your blabbering.”

 

She rolls her eyes, “she’s back on the ground with Nora, but hold on, Brat.” Steph frowns, hands on her hips, “what else did he say?”

 

“That I shall be leading this mission,” Damian grins, “effective immediately.”

 

“Okay,” she says patiently, “try again.”

 

It’s a little funny watching the tiny child fuming. Adorable. It’s like watching a small kitten sneeze. Stephanie almost feels bad Cass is missing this. 

 

“Fine,” he spits out, “Red Robin said to wait for you. If he’s not back in the next hour, we’re supposed to call the Clone for help. But I refuse.  _ I refuse. _ ”

 

“Yeah, and that sounds like you, kid.” Steph sighs.  _ God damn it, Tim.  _ He’s the one that should be dealing with this, she did not sign up for babysitting tonight. “Tell you what, I think Red’s an idiot too, and his plan is shit. So let’s go get Black Bat and the ginger first, then we figure out what to do.”

 

“That would be acceptable.” Damian says haughtily. “You have more common sense than I expected, Brown.”

 

“You know what, I’ll take the compliment. Now get moving, Brat, we don’t have all night.”

 

*

 

“Hey, I’m just saying, B. Maybe we should escort him all the way back to Belle Reve.”

 

“That would be a waste of time. Freeze has already been contained.”

 

“Yeah, but are we sure? ‘Cause let’s be real, Belle Reve has as much of a revolving door as Arkham.”

 

“If Amanda Waller decides to come after you for that comment, I’m leaving you to deal with her alone.”

 

“Okay, fair enough, I deserved that. But, we are doing this, right? Right? B?”

 

*

 

Sometimes, Tim wishes his brothers weren’t the embodiment of a headache. Totally unrealistic, he knows, but just for one day. That’s it, just one day of them behaving like people whose first instinct isn’t, say,  _ board the crazy cult’s boat of death. _

 

To be fair, he’d do his part too and  avoid joining any crazy cults.

 

Then, maybe he wouldn’t be having to sneak around inside a very gross ship. Honestly, he gets it, they’re evil, but they could at least keep things clean. Some walls have so much mold growing off of them, Tim is half afraid something has evolved in there.

 

Footsteps echo loudly, and Tim curses. 

 

There isn’t a lot of places to hide here, the hallway is narrow with doors on either side. Locked doors. He could try picking the locks or forcing his way in, but it would take too long and make too much noise.

 

It seems forward is the only way to go.

 

As he gets closer to the end of the hall, Tim can faintly make out the sound of chanting. It gives him a strange sense of dejavu, and Tim smiles a little. Kon would probably get a kick out of this.

 

The hallway leads him to what looks like the ship’s ballroom, and the contrast is jarring. While the corridor he’s in is covered in black mold and rust stains, the room in front of him looks like something out of a Wayne Gala. There’s a table with champagne and appetizers in the middle of the room, and every cloaked figure has a glass in their hands. The chanting Tim thought he heard turns out to be a strange music flowing through the sound system, it’s nothing he ever heard before, and it’s not unpleasant, but the monotonous rhythm seem to buzz down to his bones in a way that makes his skin crawl, unsettling and anxious.

 

The footsteps behind him are approaching again, but in front of him, the room is crowded with acolytes.

 

Talk about the rock and a hard place.

 

The lights are dimmed and the shadows give him some cover, but his uniform isn’t exactly subtle, the red clashing harshly against the dark green and gold decorations. Tim slides in, pressing his cape close, and mentally thanks whatever is catching their attention in the middle of the room. It might be Wickham talking, but without getting closer, he can’t be sure. 

 

Crouching behind the speakers, Tim allows himself a minute to breathe and assess the situation. It’s not the best hiding place, the music is too loud and everytime it hits a crescendo, it threatens to drown his thoughts. He feels a little dizzy, and a little nauseous, but forces himself to focus.

 

It’s indeed Wickham talking in the center of the ballroom but Tim can’t make out his words. From time to time his acolytes cheer, raising their glasses in celebration. They’re all eerily in sync, and it reminds him of a beehive, of empty puppets.

 

He’s surveilling the room when he sees them.

 

Two of the cloaked figures standing right across from him, at the back of the room. Their cloaks look like all the others, but sloppily fitting, and when the crowd raise their glasses again, they follow a second behind. The boat sways with the waves and the overhead lights shine on them for a second, but it’s enough for Tim to glimpse red underneath the hood.

 

Tim swears loudly in his head.

 

Now that he pays attention, Tim can see red hair spilling from the cloak and the metallic glint of Jason’s frankly obnoxious hood. It’s a terrible disguise and Tim is appalled no one has made them yet. 

 

Jason and Roy haven’t noticed him yet, busy trying to blend in with the other acolytes and get closer to Wickham, so Tim waves at them, hoping to get their attention before their stupid disguise get them all killed.

 

Nothing. Come on, Jason. Bruce thought better than this, what happened to be aware to your surroundings. With a roll of his eyes, Tim trades waving in favor of throwing a shrimp at their heads.

 

It does the trick. Roy turns quickly at his direction, cloak fluttering, and Tim has no doubt he has his bow ready underneath the cloth, but his eyes widen when he spots him. The archer shakes Jason’s arm urgently, gesturing with his head for him to look.

 

Tim can’t hear it, but the scowl on his face is enough to tell him Jason is cursing up a storm.

 

He raises his eyebrows, trying his best to convey  _ right back at you _ .

 

The point gets across, alright. Roy snickers. Jason frowns, flips him the bird, and then mimics shooting a gun.

 

Great. Now they’ve sunken to the world’s worst game of charade. Tim firmly gestures him to cease and desist.

 

Jason rolls his eyes, raises his hands placatingly, before puffing out his cheeks in a mimicking a explosion. Roy makes a  _ what can ya do _ motion with a shrug of his shoulders.

 

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose, counting to ten in his head. He glares at them fiercely, pointedly gesturing  _ no _ and  _ come here, _ because they need to get the hell out of there and  _ fast. _

 

Roy facepalms. Jason smirks and crosses his arms, metaphorically digging his heels in.

 

Tim motions them to move again.

 

The smirk grows.

 

He’s about ready to throw another shrimp when someone clears their throat and Tim realizes, at some point, the music had died down. He and Jason whirl around to look at the same time.

 

The acolytes have all stepped aside, opening a wide path towards the center of the room, where Wickham stands staring them down, one eyebrow raised and nothing left of his meek salesman demeanour. “Very well, it seems we have a few guests tonight.” He smiles serenely, “we meet again, young hero. Have you changed your mind, decided to join me and my family in the Halls of the Gods, perhaps?”

 

Right. The guy likes to monologue. How predictable. Tim smoothly gets to his feet, watching Jason pull out his guns and Roy his quiver, cloaks already laying forgotten on the ground. “Not a chance in hell. But family? Really?”

 

“Yes, we are all children of Jörmundgandr here.” Wickham says, paying no mind to the weapons aimed at him, “and we shall enter Valhalla standing side by side.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re all crazy, we get it,” Jason starts moving closer to Tim, guns still raised, “how about we cut to the chase and wrap things up here, hm? So, if you would do something crazy so that I have an excuse to shoot you, that would be great.”

 

“You call me crazy, you wish to lock me in that asylum of yours. But true madness is to refuse to see what lies in front of your eyes.” He pulls his hood back, revealing his now shaved head with an ouroboros tattooed. It looks new, dried blood still clinging in some points, “repent now, while you still have the chance. For the Great Serpent rises tonight, and he brings the Ragnarok with him.”

 

“Is this guy for real?” Roy makes a face, “I mean, don’t you think we would know if there was a giant ass snake sleeping in the bottom of the ocean?”

 

“This technology this world has relied on is no match for the Old Gods. Jörmundgandr has lain at the deepest ends of the sea for centuries. But it is time for him to wake up and seize what is rightfully his. Only the bravest of warriors can join him at the Sacred Halls.”

 

Jason barks a laugh, loud and obnoxious, “and you think you and  your merry band is it?”

 

“Of course!” Now Wickham sounds pissed, face red in anger, “how dare you doubt the valor of the Serpent’s chosen ones?” His face smoothes out in a fluid motion, serenity washing over his eyes once again. The mood swings really aren’t a great sign. This guy is crazy and unpredictable, and Tim absolutely hates working with a loose cannon. “You shall see tonight. After the sacrifice is complete, you shall see.”

 

Alarm bells ring in his head, and when Tim turns he sees twin expressions of concern on the Outlaws’s faces. “When you say sacrifice…”

 

A blood-curdling grin stretches on Wickham’s lips, giving him a shark-like appearance, “tonight, Gotham falls.”

 

Tim has his bo staff on his hands before the sentence is complete. “Whatever it is you’re planning, it’s over. There’s nowhere to run.”

 

“But, I encourage you to try.” Jason adds, “just go for it, man. I’m  _ dying  _ to pull the trigger here.”

 

“Oh, but I have no intention to run. Why would I? No, when my bomb goes off, I intend to be right here.” His grins widen, and he produces a trigger from the folds of his robe, “you see, we have been sailing for quite some time now. Distant enough from the harbor, that when it all goes off and the ocean swallows the city, we will safely watch from the docks.”

 

_ Shit _ . Tim tries for his comm. but it remains blank static. Without a way to contact anyone on land they’re gonna have to find a way to dismantle the bombs themselves. But first, they need to get that trigger before Wickham decides it’s time to blow Gotham up.

 

“You don’t have to do it, Daniel,” Roy tries to talk him down, “why don’t you give us that and we all sit down to talk? You can tell us all about your god, I promise.”

 

“You are mistaken, child,” Wickham cackles, “only after the water is turned red with the blood of the unfaithful can Jörmundgandr rise. Gotham is the price for eternal life. But do not worry, those that are worthy shall awake again in the Halls of the Brave.”

 

“I’m sorry, but we can’t let you do it, Wickham.” Tim says, nodding almost imperceptibly. At his signal, an arrow flies past him and embeds itself in the palm of Daniel’s hand, making drop the trigger with a muted scream and clutch his injured limb. 

 

Jason rains down bullets, that Tim hopes,  _ hopes _ , are rubber, covering for him to dive forward for the detonator. A few of the acolytes try to stop him, and Tim is surprised to find that they seem to be well trained this time. It’s not like they’re particularly good, but there’s so many of them coming at him at the same time, he’s overwhelmed. 

 

And to think he thought this would be easy. Maybe they should have told Bruce from the start, owned up to his stupidity and come clean. Maybe then they wouldn’t be in this mess, drowning in a crowd and waiting for a maniac to blow Gotham Harbor. What was he thinking, this is the League of Assassins all over again, he keeps getting in way over his head-

 

He needs to focus. One acolyte down. Breathe. Another. He’s done worse. He fought worse with less and  _ won _ . He faced down the Council of Spiders  _ alone _ , he can deal with some semi trained cultists with both Jason and Roy at his side. Yeah. He can do it. He can already see where the trigger is laying in a pool of blood-

 

His vision darkens for a second as a blow connects to the back of his head. 

 

Wickham towers over him, bloodied hand still curled into a fist. “Not so fast, Unfaithful. You can’t stop this, I will not-”

 

It takes Tim five seconds to bring him down. Pretty anti-climatic if you ask him. He picks up the trigger, pocketing it quickly before calling out to Jason, “I got it!”

 

His brother empties the entire magazine of his automatic first, then, “great. Now, a little help? These fuckers- there’s just  _ so many  _ of them- son of a  _ bitch _ -” The shells litter the ground around him.

 

A chair flies past them and Jason actually puts his gun down to look incredulous at Roy, who only shrugs, “what? I ran out of arrows.” Tim grins, dives back into the battle.

 

They clean the room quickly, handcuffing Wickham to a pipe and leaving him and his acolytes locked on the ballroom for the marine to pick up later. They have bigger things to worry about, the bombs are still out there somewhere in the bay and-

 

“It’s kinda rude that we came all the way out here to rescue you guys and you rescue yourselves!”

 

Leaning against the railing, Stephanie is grinning, Cass at one side and Damian scowling furiously at the other. Tim blinks, taking in the scene. ‘What- how did you even- I told you to call  _ Superboy _ ! If you’re here, who’s with our witness? What if-”

 

“Relax, Red.” Steph waves him off, “we left her in good hands. She’s perfectly safe at the station giving her statement as we speak.”

 

“And I would never call the Clone for  _ help  _ in  _ Gotham _ .” Damian crosses his arms, “Father would never allow such a thing to happen.”

 

“Uh, the Brat kinda has a point.” Jason says, rolling his shoulders with a wince. Must have dislocated it, then. “Bats would throw a hissy fit if he saw your boyfriend flying around his city.”

 

“He’s not. We’re not.” Tim takes a deep breath, willing himself to take the high road, “forget it. We need to find the bombs, there might be a time trigger as a failsafe.”

 

“Way ahead of you, Boy Wonder.” Steph flashes them her bright, proud, Batgirl smile, and Tim can’t help returning it. This new role, it suits her. She’s always been meant for bigger things than a bloodied Robin costume, and looking at her now, so at ease in the black and purple uniform, Tim feels his chest heaving with the weight of the familiar fondness swirling with pride. Her smile turns softer, a little nostalgic, and he knows she’s pulled by the same memories of what seems like forever ago. “All eight bombs have already been found and disarmed.”

 

Wait. What?

 

“What the hell? We only heard about ‘em like, fifteen minutes ago.” Roy asks from where he’s fussing over Jason’s dislocated shoulder. He got him to shed the jacket and the helmet, but Jason doesn’t look too happy about it or inclined to let him set it back in place. “Jeez, stay still. Do you want to get nerve damage? Than stay still and let me just-”

 

Tim stops listening, turning back to the trio standing in front of him. “How?”

 

“Is it so hard to see I am far better than you, Drake?” Damian smirks, “of course we would solve the issue while you morons were wasting your ti-” 

 

Cass flicks his head with a frown, cutting him off. “We found more shells. Sent them to Robin’s Nest to analyze. They had residues of thermite.”

 

“Yeah, after that we knew there’s got to be a bomb somewhere.” Steph explains, “Oracle scanned the bay and found the heat signatures. They were batshit crazy but Robin here disarmed them.”

 

Damian flushes at the compliment, and tries to hide it with a scowl, but it’s too late, Steph had already seen it. She ruffles his hair, cooing, and Cass laughs happily. It’s a strange scene, and it kind of twists a knife in his heart, because how did he miss this? Had he really been gone for that long? But still, it makes him smile.

 

“Can we all go home now?” Jason grunts, apparently with his shoulder back in place, “I’m done with cults. And I’m done with the lot of you. Don’t wanna see your ugly faces for a good month at least.”

 

“God, please,” Roy yawns, “I’m beat and man, I’m really not looking forward to the trip back to Star City.”

 

“I know I’m going to regret this, but. You know you can crash at my place tonight.” Jason rolls his eyes.

 

“Nah, promised Oliver I’d help with a thing.” The archer beams, “but no take-backs! I’m going to take full advantage of this next time I visit!”

 

Tim trades a look with Steph and Cass, hiding his laughter. His brother groans, “I’m moving, that’s it. Well, now that there’s no apocalypse upon us, I’m out. Please, forget I exist.” Jason picks up his jacket and jumps, landing in a jet ski parked right beside the boat.

 

“Wait, hold on, I said no take-backs!” Roy jumps after him, and with that they are off, speeding away.

 

They stand in silence for a second, watching the jet ski disappear towards Gotham Harbor. Then, “I have already notified the Marine of this ship’s coordinates. They are on their way. I suggest we too leave.” Damian jumps the rail, taking another of the jet skis. “Well?”

 

Cass doesn’t hesitate before following him and wrestling for the driver’s seat.

 

Tim looks at Steph, shrugs. It doesn’t have to be awkward, not if they don’t let it. “After you.”

 

She smiles, relieved, “sure, but I’m driving.”

 

He grins back, and when he circles his arms around her, the engine roaring into life, he asks, “no but really, who’s with the girlfriend?”

 

“Nightwing,” Steph shouts over the noise, “now hold tight, Bird Boy, and try not to drown!”

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, if you liked it, maybe drop a comment or a kudo? Or come talk to me at [my tumblr](http://wearealltalesintheend.tumblr.com/) or my [DC sideblog.](https://rad-hoodd.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And hey? Thanks.


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